


the momentum is startling

by kuro49



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Twenty years in Gotham and four Robins later, Batman joins the Justice League.Or, the baby birds are not so small anymore but the flock flies home all the same.





	the momentum is startling

**Author's Note:**

> it was the movies that got me into dc and then i fell even more head over heels for the robins via the comics, so here is me trying to have my cake and eat it too. 
> 
> set within the justice league movie and how all four robins fit into it.
> 
> edit** [ i got graphics for my fic, sOBS.](http://www.tumblethroughthekaleidoscope.tumblr.com/post/172761144724/happy-birthday-setsailslash-the-momentum-is)

 

 

 

 

 

 

It starts like it always does, with secrets upon secrets pile high enough to risk the danger of coming all down in one fell swoop. But they do what they have been taught from a young age to do, what they are best at, what they have always done. They fall right with it, head first into danger armed to the teeth.

The old man would be proud too if they still talked.

Atop a rooftop on the outskirts of Bludhaven, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin stand around the thrashing growling _thing_ with broken and frantically beating wings. They come across this one all on their own just far enough from Gotham City where they are no longer toeing the line of Batman’s territory, where they can breathe a little easier without the menacing thought of stepping right back into the shadow of the big bad bat.

“Either Gotham City has fallen or the world is on the verge of ending and Bats still doesn’t even have the courtesy to give us a warning.” Red Hood remarks with both guns trained on its grotesque face twisted into a nightmare.

And they, of all people, would recognize a nightmare for what it is worth.

“I’m sure B just wants to protect us from whatever _this_ is.”

Nightwing has his escrima sticks pulsing high voltage to keep it from getting back up.

“ _This_ is a Parademon.” Red Robin shares with his staff stabbed through its side, pinning it against the shattered tiles of the rooftop. It is also not the first one to have escaped Gotham City.

“Let’s just make sure it _stays_ dead.”

The gunshot is satisfyingly loud, the stray Parademon finally stops moving, and the ex-Robins find themselves planning a long due visit home.

The rules have changed for all of them but none as severe as the Bat.

Bruce Wayne might be learning his lesson too late but when the Wayne tower crumbles under Zod’s brief control of the world, it is a catalyst. Every life in Gotham he cannot save weighs on him like the battered Robin suit encased in glass. Powerlessness, after all, can be quite the motivator, and down he goes, the same path he always takes. Batman begins a crusade he should have started a long time ago in the aftermath of what the world now refers to as the Black Zero event.

Twenty years in Gotham and four Robins later, Batman finds that there are lines that must be crossed.

 

It is a stark difference where the manor stands empty, run down, and desolate, the cave is crowded underneath this burial ground of theirs.

The years do not make it any easier when they look death in the eyes and find themselves thinking, _I don't want to die like this_. Death touches everything in its encompassing and impartial sweep but it always feels fucking personal when it comes to Bruce Wayne’s sons. _I will not die like this._

The first Robin comes clean as soon as the other is within earshot.

“Death is rather hard to shake off.”

Jason joins him in front of Richard Grayson’s grave, overgrown with weeds and looking all parts left to the passage of time. The wind makes the grass standing at the height of their waists sway.

“You pulled it off better than I ever did, Dickiebird.”

The breath of early evening air Dick drags into his lungs gives him away to the very same feeling that Jason understands sorely and intimately even now. If it is all the same to them, it still feels like he hasn’t been able to breathe out loud for quite some time without the ache in his ribs and the throb in the dents made into his head. Dick’s heart hurts.

“It’s a learning curve, little wing.”

It is the wrong thing to say. But both of them are used to that.

Dick is smiling but it is more telling when his eyes have long since wander pass his own tombstone to the one some distance away, the one with _Jason Peter Todd_ hacked into the gray even though there was never a body or even a coffin six feet below. They do not do well with being symbols of any kind. They do not understand Bruce’s need to surround himself with them.

“There shouldn’t have been another one after me.”

Far from the center of Gotham City, the argument remains the same and both ex-Robins can admit to sounding like a broken record when they dredge up the past once more with an expectation for something different to come of it. Bruce Wayne is attracted to lost causes and charity cases. When you have a soft spot for the martyrs and a weakness to sob stories, it is no surprise when Batman finds himself digging grave after grave.

“Batman needs a Robin.” Dick echoes Tim Drake’s famous last words before he strong-armed Bruce into giving him Robin and made something sensible out of green pixie boots. Jason scoffs and shakes his head, and there is no hint of the same old bitterness when he tells him this.

“I think Batman is trading up this time.”

It isn't unkind, and really, coming from him, there is something to be said.

Between then and now, going Parademon hunting sort of falls into the periphery with Superman’s resurrection and the resulting fight in front of his own monument. There is something to the sight of Batman standing next to what people are now calling the Justice League. 

 

It is neither trust nor faith that he leaves this city in their hands. He has been taught by both mother and father to be far better than that.

It is merely an understanding that Gotham doesn’t change in ways that matter.

Damian Wayne leaves Gotham when he turned eighteen and doesn’t come back well pass his twentieth birthday. In that time, Superman dies and Superman is resurrected the same day he is due to return (only Grayson was notified ahead of time). Damian thinks he would be more impressed by it if the same thing hadn’t happened to him when he was ten years old. But he also understands that his life experiences are not all that relatable even when the very fact that Superman is as alien as they come is taken into consideration.

“Drake.”

Damian has not been on the same continent as the rest of the family for some time now but it isn’t hard to pick up where he left off. It is almost a warm kind of welcome when Tim looks to him from where he is leaning against the hood of his car and gives him an even nod in return.

“It’s been a while, Damian.”

Nobody is decapitated, they are not antagonizing one another, they are not even at odds. They are civilized and it is really fucking with their heads unlike anything else. Gotham doesn’t change in any way that matters, Damian finds his way back through the same streets and the same turns and the same number of steps. It is everything else that changes in every way that matters personally to him. It is not an attack on him even if it feels a lot like one.

Tim stands up straight, brushes dust that doesn’t exist from his suit and tips his head to the front door of a glass house built at the edge of a lake. Neither one of them says it because there is only one path that leads to here from the main road and what remains of the old manor they each called home at one time in their lives is kind of hard to miss.

“Come on, let’s go say hi to Alfred first.”

Gotham is a bad hit they keep coming back for. She is home when nowhere else has come close, and it has been a long time since any of the flock flies home.

It is fair to say that it would take the end of the world to have them stumbling back.

 

“Open concept kitchen and floor to ceiling windows looking out on a creepy lake? This place actually makes me miss the old haunted manor.”

The house is eerily still and the four of them is in the kitchen filling in the silence and moving in place just to fend off the unmovement of even the waters just beyond the glass.

“You live in a bunker, Jason. You hardly get to be passing judgement on architecture of all things.”

Jason gives Tim a hard look and he would care which one of his bunkers Tim is referring to but he knows the question is which one of his bunkers Tim doesn’t know about and the answer is absolutely zero.

They come back like they have never left. The Robins may be a relic of the past but the faded red and green and yellow remain a symbol of hope in the Gotham streets during a time when vigilantes didn’t inspire fear alone. They miss this is what it really boils down to but they don’t say it and they doubt they ever will.

Jason still isn’t about to go easy on Bruce, none of them would, it would all be too simple. “This screams eccentric playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne but I didn’t think he actually lived in this place. Who knew the Bat was such a modern man when he’s been going medieval and _branding_ people.”

“Father would not purposely place a death sentence on—”

The scowl is back but there is no real threat to it. None of them are blind to what the man under the cowl has been doing during the years they were away from the city.

Surprisingly, it is Dick who interrupts Damian. “There are things far worse to do to a person than murder.”

“I can attest to that.” Damian says in answer, steel in his voice and not giving an inch.

There is no truce to be drawn when they come to the same understanding.

If they want to point fingers, there is more than enough blame to go around but Dick is still having a hard time reconciling over the last few inches Damian grew into and neither Tim nor Jason has eaten dinner. It is not about what they haven't done but what they can do. It is simple when Jason goes to the fridge and begins pulling out ingredients. Damian takes the pan from where it hangs and goes to the stove top. Tim opens several drawers and cupboards before he finds the plates. And Dick sits down because he knows better than to get in the way.

Alfred Pennyworth has to remind himself that he _likes_ these kids when he is coming upstairs with Barry Allen in tow, their voices not loud or soft but just even enough to be heard word for word.

“…Father?”

Barry blurts out in a stage whisper with something like stupefied surprise.

 

Alfred is a healthy level of paranoid.

But really, next to Bruce Wayne, any level of paranoia can be considered to be on the lower end of the spectrum. He deals with surprises far better than Bruce does but he figures if Bruce isn’t expecting this, well, then the man really ought to quit while he is ahead. Alfred is only surprised it has taken this long and on a night when it just so happens to be a full house and then some.

“Welcome home, young masters.”

Alfred purposely doesn’t look at the scatter of crumbs across his counter top when one of them begins sawing through his Ciabatta bread with a carving knife. He is two steps from removing everyone from the kitchen but it has been a long, long time and he can’t help but take the time to see each one of these boys for himself.

“Not so young anymore, Alfred.” Dick answers in all fairness as he runs a hand through his hair.

“If you are in any way, trying to say something, Master Dick.” Alfred settles his gaze on the eldest. He isn’t frayed like Timothy is or sharpened to an edge like Damian is or even careful like Jason is projecting. No, Richard Grayson is looking a lot the same but world wary and worn down comes to mind like a reflex and doesn’t Alfred relate keenly to that. “I would highly recommend that you refrain from doing so.”

Dick laughs and it still fills the room.

He almost forgets his new charge until he sees young Master Damian glaring openly at Barry in defiance. Alfred is not one bit surprise at the conclusion each ex-Robin comes to in their mind.

“Barry, they are Master Bruce’s—” he pauses because there is a lot of things he can say and there is just as much he cannot. He isn’t sure whether what he settles for is the right word to use but he thinks everything has gone as wrong as things can get. He wants to hope it doesn’t end the way it did. Alfred starts again, mouth turning up into a tentative smile. “These four are Master Bruce's sons.”

“Adopted, adopted, not officially, by blood.” Jason clarifies without skipping a beat, pointing each of them out like he needs to draw a line before he crosses that too. But he is not objecting to it and Alfred finds himself thinking everything isn’t as wrong as he thought.

“I’m Allen, Barry. Barry Allen I mean, uh, that’s my name.” He says, holding out his hand to Tim who is standing the closest, who also happens to have a stack of plates in one hand and a fist full of forks in the other. Dick takes pity on them both and reaches out to take Barry’s hand in his own. Barry’s smile becomes a grin. “I’m also the Flash.”

Maybe it is a given fact, but they are older and wiser and far kinder to one another than when they were younger. Still, it makes Alfred smile at how far each of them has come when Damian nods in acknowledgement and goes back to cutting uneven slices of wasted Ciabatta bread like a tight wound up knot has loosened.

It feels like family after being alone for so long.

 

It takes mere minutes for the food to disappear between the five young men. It takes a little bit longer for Barry to catch them up with details of Superman’s return, Steppenwolf, and the Mother Boxes in between bites.

The world is on a precipice and for better or worse, the worst has already happened.

“So, the world is ending and Bruce doesn’t even say a word to us, to _any_ of us.”

It is a known fact. Bats and birds like them, they don’t ask for help. But even this is stretching it with the world on the line. Alfred sees the train wreck coming from a mile away and has no intention of being there when it happens. Bruce can be here taking the brunt of it, he deserves that much.

“He recruited me.” Barry says, eyebrows furrowing in confusion like he has a hard time comprehending the Bruce Wayne everyone else at the table is talking about with the one he knows.

“He has us.” Tim mutters.

They think it can be about healing if the wounds are really that shallow. But these wounds of theirs dig deep, pass the skin and the nerves and the muscles to cut into bone. It doesn’t hurt in the visceral sense all pain should, it hurts in the scar tissue that forms and the nightmares that they cannot shake off even when they are wide awake.

“Had.” Jason corrects, not looking at them at all. “He thinks he is protecting us, and he probably is, but he is on the other side of a line we can’t cross. He is in the middle of a war we are not capable of fighting.”

The Justice League is not just about saving the world. The Justice League is of a caliber none of them can match, Batman understands that keenly. You are not on the same team as a demigod or a meta-human and not know your own limitations. All of them are as human as they come. They are vigilantes, not superheroes. Neither Tim nor Damian have to like it to understand the logical strategy behind all of this.

“We are not like you, Barry.” Dick says, and if he looks a little bit proud at Jason, well, he can hardly be blamed. “He doesn’t need us now like he needs you or anyone else in the cave.”

The world outweighs one or two or three or four. Their feelings do not factor into this.

For the world, even Batman is willing to get blood on his hands. Jason isn’t angry, not for a long time now. But it leaves a bad taste in his mouth to get what he has always thought he wanted. Jason likes being right, but he has grown up enough to admit: Not like _this_.

It still happens this way but that is how it always seems to end. Nobody is happy about it, and then one of them dies.

 

There is no other way to delay this any further and there is no need to drag this on for any longer than it is. Damian finds it laughable that they tried but the last plate has been cleared, cleaned, and put away. Damian stands up and makes up their collective mind.

“Let us go see father.”

Barry looks to Alfred like he is offering to give the man in the cave a fair warning, and Alfred isn’t quite sure if Bruce deserves one. But Alfred figures his disapproval doesn't mean a whole lot when even he hasn't been able to contain Batman's delve into the brutal.

“You know your way.”

Barry takes off ahead of them, and the ex-Robins watch Alfred as he lets him go. If there is one thing they each have in common, it is guilt and they are wracked with it. Because as stubborn as they are, they _ran_. They expect a question or two or even a lecture before Alfred relents and leads them down to the cave. Whatever he says, they know they owe the butler everything. A kinder version of the truth is this, they left when he stayed.

“Young masters,” Alfred addresses them and they hold still because if there is one man they respect more than their old mentor, it is this man right in front of them. They hear the resignation in the man’s voice, they also hear the relief. “I apologize that I wasn’t able to do more.”

“Alfred—” Tim starts, and his voice almost cracks, echoing the same shame and pain and guilt for everything they heard and still never managed to come _home_.

“Pennyworth,” Damian cuts in, holding firm in his stance, “you have done far more than all of us combined. Father is responsible for his own actions.”

Alfred worries about plenty of things but this here is not one of them.

“Talk some sense into him.”

Jason is much kinder now, he doesn't bark out a sharp laugh even if they all know how well that always goes.

“Let’s go meet the old man’s superfriends then.”

 

The Flash feels like his heart is pounding in his chest a whole lot louder than it should be. He has run a much longer distance for a lot longer duration and felt fine. But he doesn't think telling Bruce his estranged sons are upstairs and coming down counts as a normal occurrence and he has only known the man for a little more than a week.

Central City doesn’t have the same history Gotham City does.

Barry has seen the damaged suit in the cave, all of them have. It is a little hard to miss. He has asked Victor once and the answer he was given had been a single word: Robin. Barry might not have Victor’s abilities but he is capable of doing a little more than a google search on a name like that. It is not hard to figure out the rest of the details from there.

The mantle of Robin has a lengthy history spanning close to twenty years, it all adds up like a story building into a tragedy. He catches up in minutes.

The computers are running some sort of scans that Arthur offered to keep an eye on even though there really isn’t much need given they have the Cyborg looking for Steppenwolf.

The air is empty one moment and in the next, Barry is standing right by Arthur. 

“That took you a lot longer than usual.”

“Uh, where is Bruce?” Barry asks, his eyes darting from one end of the room to the other and finding no sign of the caped crusader or the pointed bat ears.

“He is in the study.” Diana tells him, looking only a little concerned. “Is something wrong, Barry?”

“Uh, I met some—” Barry starts but he is not quite sure whether it is his place to introduce the Robins or if this is a family matter best left in Bruce’s hands. Barry doesn't have enough family or friends to know what the appropriate thing to do here should be. "I met some past associates of Bruce."

He sees Arthur reach for his trident in an unasked question of friend or foe.

Barry is quick to defend the Robins even though he can hardly keep them all straight in his head, the right name to the right face to the right vigilante. "Friendly."

“They are coming down here?”

Barry just nods, vigorously.

 

Batman has had his run long before the Justice League. He has had twenty years in Gotham, and here, in Gotham City, his secrets have secrets of their own.

They make up at least four of them coming to the surface out of their own volition.

"So, this is what the big league looks like." Jason says at the sight of the scatter of Barry and friends in a new wing of the cave that he isn't familiar with and doesn't that hurt in a completely different way than any physical blow can inflict.

To think there exists a part of the Batcave that came after him, after every Robin that stuck around. He might be an outlaw in his own right and it might have been ten years since he has crawled out of his own grave but coming back here still isn't easy. He itches for his Hood enough to settle for even just a domino mask at this point because these people are heroes in everything but a name they make up for themselves. These here are the real deal in front of the Robins who have been playing a very serious game of dress up since they were children.

Damian surveys the room before striding right towards the computers with every intention of finding out every last detail of the city that has changed since his departure. "Doesn't look like much."

"Play nice, Damian."

"I don't _play_ , Grayson."

Even with years and continents apart, they fall back together into this same distracting routine with ease. They take the moment to study the room with a glance, catalogue every detail while focusing on none. Maybe it is that ugly feeling rearing its head from way back when Bruce still bothered with keeping a Robin around and his ultimate decision that Batman works better alone after all. It is a united front they put up when faced with Batman’s new team.

Their backs are not pressed up against the other but it feels a whole lot like it.

"I am Diana of Themyscira."

She is not one to intimidate but she is deliberate when she puts her sword down. The intention behind her display is as clear as if she had spoken it out loud, there is a bigger mission on their hands. She will not play a children’s game.

“If Bruce didn’t grovel to have you here, he should start.” Jason is not above asking for Wonder Woman’s autograph, he doesn’t need to say he’s seen how Doomsday was brought to its knees by her, he doesn’t have to. He watches her mouth curl into a small smile. “I'm Jason Todd.”

“Timothy Drake.”

“Richard Grayson, but call me Dick.”

“…Damian Wayne.”

Even before Superman appeared in front of the world, they have always been aware of the beyond but to have meta-humans, a demigod, and whatever that man with the really big fork is occupying the same room as them still feels a little bit surreal. They introduce themselves and they are cautious.

They might not be friends (not yet if Barry has any say) but they are friendly and nobody misses the grin that breaks out across Barry’s face but that slips right off when a new voice joins in.

“I see you've met my sons.”

They don’t like this feeling that floods into them because it is instincts and it is ingrained into them when they turn to him as one at the sound of his voice alone. Once a Robin, always a Robin. It feels like old times, like a well-placed gut punch that has all the air from their lungs rush out in quick succession, where the only word remaining is:

“Bruce.”

Gritted out in between clenched teeth, tasting of blood on the flat of their tongues.

They see black, black, black.

 

Vulnerability has no place where bats spread their wings. He does not want to be confronted here. He doesn’t ever imagine it would ever wind up here, with him as part of a team. But the league is easy in the sense that they do not know him. At the sound of voices, Bruce steps out of his study.

He thinks he knows which one of them says his name. He thoroughly expects this. He has known since they have crossed into Gotham’s city limits.

He just wishes it didn’t hit him quite this hard though.

Bruce Wayne wants to stand there a moment longer to categorize everything, from the lines around Dick’s eyes to the stubble on Jason’s jaw to the muscle Tim has built up to the height Damian has grown into. He has surveillance on each of them but it is never quite _enough_. It all drives home the point of everything he has missed. He doesn’t let it show.

“Kids, meet the league.”

They are here and he really wishes he could have a word with Alfred but he suspects Alfred is not about to talk to him for a good long while if he does this wrong. Second chances have come and gone, he doubts anyone is keeping count at every turn.

Jason lets out a low whistle at the sight of the horrendous deep tissue bruising in place of a greeting and Bruce would wince that this is how they have to see him after so long. Because he knows how he looks, how bad it all looks. Jason isn’t scowling but his words make his mouth twist, he doesn’t point out the obvious thing but he isn’t the only ex-Robin to see his desecrated suit encased in glass just downstairs from where they are standing.

“You don’t think you’re getting a little too old for this.”

Bruce brushes Jason’s comment off. “Why are you here?”

“Your Parademons ended up in my city.” Dick wants to remain diplomatic but he sees the recently dislocated shoulder and the bruised ribs and the way Superman made his return to the world of the living. He wants to tell Bruce how reckless it all is but he has a feeling the man is well aware. He wants to say a lot of things but he also knows he walked away from the right to do just that a long time ago.

“…I thought I got them all.”

This admittance of his mistake isn’t as satisfying as they all wished it would be but they are not capable of making anything easy between them. Batman is fallible but that is nothing new.

“You thought wrong, father.”

There is probably a fair amount they need to talk about but when have they ever been good at making a plan and sticking to it? Years and years of training can unravel like a loose spool but they react even if their reaction isn't always good or the right one. They fly, they fall, they shoot out their grappling hooks at the very last minute for the thrill alone. Bruce taught each of them himself. They have always been far to capable of putting the mission ahead of anything else and they can grow up and grow farther and farther apart but this is still the case.

They don’t object to Bruce’s simple statement of _stay_ when Cyborg interrupts them with the name of a small Russian town.

They watch them gear up, and they don’t make any promises to talk when he returns. That is contingent on whether he comes back at all. They know Bruce’s capabilities but they have nothing on Steppenwolf. They trust Batman but they are not stupid either. He goes where they cannot follow, he goes and they do not cross that last line between them.

They fly, and this, here is the part where they fall.

“Watch his back out there.”

Tim’s voice is not loud but it makes the Justice League stop in their steps all the same. _Do what we cannot do._

 

They do not say goodbye.

 


End file.
